


Tell Me How You Like It

by phdmama



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, H/D Consent Fest, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Ron's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 03:58:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13849608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdmama/pseuds/phdmama
Summary: It's a beautiful sunny day, and when Ron is laid up in the common room with a broken ankle, he gets more of a glimpse into his best friend's private life than he ever might have wanted!





	Tell Me How You Like It

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the HD Consent Fest. The rest of the fics from this fest can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HDConsentFest2018).
> 
> Huge thanks to s. and w. for the beta reads!!
> 
> Usual disclaimer: I own none of this. I'm just playing in the sandbox. 
> 
> Please see the end notes for the prompt.

_Spring is in the air,_ thinks Ronald Weasley, looking around the Great Hall.

Coming back to Hogwarts after the war had been difficult. The castle itself had been damaged too badly to reopen in the fall, and so, like so many others, Ron had spent the summer and autumn months living on the grounds and helping to rebuild. Minerva McGonagall had insisted that all who were willing to sweat for the welfare of the school would be welcomed (confirmed by the Sorting Hat of course), and there was something about the good work of honest labor done together that had a way of breaking down barriers and opening doors that were previously closed.

At first, it had been hard. Initially, there had been hissed insults and the occasional jinx thrown, but as soon as the work started, they’d been too tired at night to do anything but eat a quiet dinner and go to bed. As their bodies had grown used to the physical and magical labor, and as they’d grown stronger, they’d had more energy. Being teenagers still, and in spite of most of them being war veterans, things had gotten... interesting.

During the reconstruction, all the students who were now in the 8th year class had been housed together. The Sorting Hat had paired them all up, with some most _interesting_ combinations, and once the school had reopened, the decision had been made to keep things as they were. Because of the lost term, most of the 7th and 8th years will be staying for an extra summer term (the younger students are expected to pursue tutoring at home), and Ron can’t wait. He can only imagine that summer in Scotland will be amazing, and aside from those pesky N.E.W.T.s, Ron is hopeful that there is much fun to be had. His mind wanders hopefully to lazy afternoons by the Black Lake, Quidditch after supper, and… His eyes stray to Hermione who is sitting across the table, working on her own supper.

Ron feels his face flush a bit as he imagines the other opportunities summer may bring. Hermione catches him staring, and frowns.

“Are you alright, Ron? You look a bit red.”

Ron starts, coughs, and says hastily, “Fine, Hermione. I’m fine.”

His attention is drawn by a burst of laughter down from the other end of the table, and he can’t help the smile that crosses his face. Perhaps one of the most unusual pairings to come out of the Sorting Hat currently looks to be attempting to wrestle each other into the ground. Unlike in previous years, where this particular pair wrestling might have led to blows, _or worse,_ Ron thinks, the only danger here is for Neville’s pumpkin juice, as Harry’s arm flails about and manages to knock the cup straight into Neville’s lap. Neville gives a cry of annoyance laced with amusement.

“Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy.”

McGonagall’s voice is stern as she observes the antics from the Head Table.

Harry and Draco guiltily spring apart and Harry nudges Draco in the ribs.

“Berk,” he whispers under his breath.

“Knob,” Draco hisses back as they face their headmistress.

“I understand that the weather has finally brought spring to the north, and as such, emotions may be running high, but I must insist that you take…” her face contorts as if she’s suddenly been surprised by a lemon slice, “such _shenanigans_ outside.”

“Sorry, Headmistress,” Harry calls, still breathless, laughter flickering at the edge of his voice. “We’ll stop.”

He and Draco settle down and Ron shakes his head.

If you’d told him 10 months prior that the Sorting Hat would place Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy together in a room and, even more astonishing, that not only would they both survive the situation, but that they would become friends, Ron would have immediately escorted you to the hospital wing, while breathing thanks that it had remained relatively unscathed during the battle.

It hasn't been an easy road. Draco had initially been frozen and withdrawn, but over time, as the lines that divided them all had blurred, connections had been forged. As part of his probation, Draco had been mandated for community service, and had been off-site working with muggle youth during the day. He’d also been working intensively with a mind healer (as they all had), and most days would come back from his community service in the afternoon to put in several hours of work on the castle before collapsing into his bed. On the days he'd had therapy, he’d often return white-faced and shaken, and would generally retreat to his room.

He’d apologized. He’d spoken out, more than once during the 8th years’ late night talks around the fire, giving voice to his shame and remorse. His desire to make amends. Ron didn’t know _exactly_ what Draco and Harry got up to late into the night in their own room, or the topics of their private conversations, but he did know that over time, Harry had thawed.

When they’d returned from their winter holiday to take back up the mantle of student, Harry had stood with McGonagall at the Welcome Feast. He’d offered his own words of unity and hope for the future, and in front of everyone, had offered Draco Malfoy his hand in friendship.

While no one has escaped the pain the war wrought, no one is undamaged, over the months, first as they’d first rebuilt Hogwarts and now as they’ve turned back to their studies, a sort of peace and lightness has come to the school. The 8th years are not immune to this, and are finally getting a chance to live as the young people they are, without the shadow of war and violence over them. As the days have lengthened, and the grounds have thawed and bloomed after the cold of winter, so too have the students. There is more laughter at dinner. More conversation in the halls. And certainly more snogging in the courtyard.

Harry and Draco, in particular, seem to have developed a teasing sort of affection for each other that is unmistakable. There are even moments where Ron has wondered… but no. Harry hasn’t seemed interested in anyone that way, as far as Ron can tell. He’s made a couple of comments about how fit Oliver Wood looks in his Puddlemere uniform, but other than that, it’s not a topic that’s come up. Come to think of it, the last time Harry had talked about it, Draco had punched him in the arm and marched off.

It’s the next afternoon when it happens. It’s one of those glorious spring days where the sky is heartbreakingly blue, studded with fluffy white clouds, and there’s enough of a breeze to warrant a jumper but nothing more. Almost the entire 8th year has skived off of revising for end-of-term exams to play a game of pick-up Quidditch, but Ron’s ankle is still hurting him. He’d broken it the day before in a vicious game of Twister that Dean Thomas had brought from home after the winter holidays. A sudden influx of the flu had filled the infirmary, so Madam Pomfrey had released him on the condition that he rest and not walk at all on it.

He has promised Hermione that he’ll study for potions, which he has no intention of doing. Hermione had levitated one of the comfortable couches over in front of the windows so he can bask in the sun while he “studies,” which actually means reading the latest installment of Loony Nonby v.s. Cornish Pixie. Between the large Sunday dinner and the warmth of the sun through the window, it isn’t long before his eyes are drifting shut.

It’s the closing of the common room door that wakes Ron up, followed by whispered giggles as two of his classmates come back in, obviously assuming the room is empty.

Ron opens his eyes and looks around blearily, a bit disoriented from his nap. He starts to sit up, but freezes when he realizes what he’s hearing.

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry is mumbling and there… are sounds.

Sounds like _kissing_ sounds. Like _gasps_ and, fuck, was that a _moan?_ What the _fuck?_

“No one’s going to believe your excuse, you know,” Ron hears Draco say drily, and Harry snorts.

“What, that my Spiky Prickly Plant needs to be repotted and you’re so kindly going to help me with it? You don’t think that’s believable?”

“Well, I think they’ll believe your prickly _something_ needs help.”

Draco’s laugh is suddenly muffled and then there are _more_ sounds, and a breathy groan that has Ron clapping a hand over his mouth.

“Besides,” Harry gasps, “It’s not like everyone doesn’t know anyway.”

Then there are even _more_ noises and the rustling of fabric, and Draco gasps “I know. I don’t think there’s any point left in being subtle.”

“C’mon,” Harry groans, “Let’s go to our room, someone might come back.”

There is the sound of them stumbling down the hall, and as soon as Ron hears the door close, he sits bolt upright. Everyone knows? Everyone knows _what,_ exactly? This year has been an education for Ron in more ways than one, and he’s not… unfamiliar with the kinds of activities that might produce those particular sorts of noises, but Harry and Draco? Ron sinks back down onto the couch, frowning. Suddenly, he’s seeing a number of events from the last few months in a whole new light. In particular, this one from a couple of months ago:

_Ron pounds on Draco and Harry’s door and flings it open before he hears anything from inside._

_“Come on, you lot,” he yells as he steps into the room, “Rise and shi— What the fuck are you doing?”_

_Draco is flat on his back under the covers with Harry lying on top of him. Draco’s hands are stretched up over his head and Harry is pinning his wrists to the mattress. Draco freezes from where he’s been obviously trying to get Harry off, and their heads whip around as one and they stare at Ron with identical looks of horror._

_Ron yanks out his wand, hoping he doesn’t have to hex his best friend. “Really, guys? Come on. You know McGonagall will give you both detention for the rest of your fucking lives if you’re caught fighting.” He hisses at the mark he sees on Draco’s neck and says, “Harry. Mate. Come on. You left a bruise. I thought you were getting on so well too.” He shakes his head in disappointment._

_Harry leaps to his feet and immediately turns his back to Ron, saying in a strangled voice, “Uh, yeah, Ron. You’re right, of course. Sorry, Draco. I don’t know what came over me.”_

_Draco’s bent knees push up under the bedspread and he’s dropped an arm over his eyes as he says, “It’s, uh. It’s fine, Ha— Potter.”_

_Ron moves to the doorway. “Can I trust you boys to behave? I’m going to go get Hermione, let’s go for breakfast.”_

Ron shakes his head, screwing up his face. Okay, so it’s _possible_ he’s misinterpreted a few things. It’s not that he has any issue if Harry prefers guys, he assures himself, but Malfoy? Although, Malfoy has changed a lot this year, that much is obvious, and Ron has to admit he’s not an unattractive bloke. But he really doesn’t want to think in too much detail about what — or whom — his best mate is getting up to in his personal time. And given that Harry and Draco’s room is right next to the common room, thank goodness for silencing charms, eh?

Having made peace with the situation in his own mind, Ron settles back in with Loony. It’ll be a good distraction from what he imagines is going on next door.

Things go fine for a minute or two and then there’s another noise and, too late, Ron remembers one crucial fact: _Harry Potter is shit at silencing charms._ Ron isn’t quite sure how this can still be after 6 years of dorm living and a year on the run from fucking Voldemort, but it’s true. Harry may be one of the most powerful wizards alive, but he can’t cast a fucking muffliato to save his damn life, which is what it may come to if Ron Weasley has to listen to his best friend fucking Draco Malfoy.

Ron curses his broken ankle. Madam Pomfrey had been very clear that he should only move if it’s an actual emergency, like the rising of another Dark Lord or something, and he’s not sure this qualifies. _It might, though,_ Ron thinks darkly. _It very well might._

“Oh fuck, Harry.” Draco’s voice is hoarse. “Do you want to?”

Whatever it is he’s asking, Harry seems on-board, if his frantic moan is anything to go by.

“Merlin, Draco. _Yes._ Do you?”

“Yeah, just. Can we take it slow?”

Harry’s voice is fervent, almost thrilled as he says, “Yeah, anything you want, baby. Anything.”

Baby? Harry’s calling him baby? Ron frowns into the common room. This isn’t just a shag. This _means_ something.

“Draco,” Harry is saying now, “Can I give you a finger? Is that okay?”

 _Well, at least he’s asking_ , Ron thinks philosophically, remembering the afternoon of sex education they’d gotten at the beginning of the fall with McGonagall, when it had become clear what having a whole bunch of 17- and 18-year olds running around the castle might entail. It had been excruciating for all of them, Ron remembers with a snicker, but the message had gotten across. Always ask.

Ron tries heroically not to ponder what “a finger” might entail while simultaneously thinking about how he might explain this to Hermione later in terms that might… interest her.

There’s another loud moan, Ron can’t quite tell who it’s from this time. And then, “Harry, your fucking mouth, sweetheart. Can you give me a lick, darling?”

And so it goes. One finger becomes two. The lick becomes a suck. A fondle to the balls is offered and accepted. The entire thing is clearly being negotiated act by act, requests are made, and in one instance, as Ron’s face goes red, rejected lovingly. It’s all beautifully consensual, not to mention loud.

And, in Ron’s opinion, taking far, far too long. He really has to take a piss and he’s going to need some help for that, so he needs them both to just come already.

Harry sounds absolutely wrecked now, and Ron imagines just what has caused that scratchy tone to his voice. “Draco, fuck. Can I? Do you want a third?”

Draco, it seems, is pretty pleased with this suggestion, and gives a sobbing cry. _Huh,_ Ron thinks. _Harry must be pretty good at this._ He feels a flush of pride for his best mate, and makes a mental note to focus more on foreplay the next time he and Hermione have some quality time.

“Draco, baby, okay. I’m going to give you a third, is that okay?”

 _Yes,_ Ron thinks impatiently, _yes, it’s okay, Harry. Just fucking get_ **_on_ ** _with it._

He waits, feeling a bit too invested at this point, and still really needing to pee. The silence in the common room is broken by the moans coming from Harry and Draco’s room.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Draco chants, “Okay, Harry, c’mon. I think I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, and even Ron can hear the thread of anxiety in his voice.

“I’m ready,” Draco pants loudly, “Harry, darling, I’m ready.”

“But are you sure?” Harry insists. “If you’re not, we can just keep doing this.”

“No, baby, I’m really ready. Come on. I want you.” Draco’s tone is insistent. Demanding.

 _Which, to be fair,_ Ron thinks, _it usually is._ Sex doesn’t seem to have changed that about him.

“I just,” Harry says, quietly enough that Ron really has to strain to hear him, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Harry,” Draco’s tone seems to have softened. “I’m ready. I want this. I want _you._ Please.”

“But,” Harry insists and Ron can’t take it anymore.

“He’s fucking ready, Harry. Just do it,” he yells out, and there’s a sudden, panicked silence from the other room, and then frantic mumbling that Ron can’t quite hear, which drops off abruptly and Ron realizes that someone, probably Malfoy, has cast a strong and effective muffliato.

Okay, fine. He’s not going to get to hear the rest of the encounter. _Not,_ he assures himself firmly, _that I’m sad about that._ It’s awkward as fuck, _obviously,_ listening to your best mate shag his… _whatever they are,_ Ron thinks.

The silence in the common room is deafening as Ron attempts to get back to his comic while keeping his ears peeled for any untoward sounds from the other room. After about ten minutes, he hears the door slowly open, and he scrambles around on the couch, popping up over the back to watch Draco and Harry make their way from the room. They both freeze when they see Ron grinning at them over the back of the couch. There’s a long pause.

“So,” Ron says cheerfully. “You lot are shagging, then?” He squashes the flutter of hurt that they hadn’t felt like they could tell him.

Draco and Harry glance at each other and then Draco slips an arm around Harry’s waist and pulls him in close, as he gives Ron a look, raising one eyebrow. “Well, we were _going_ to,” he says finally, “Until _someone_ fucking ruined the mood.”

“Oh,” Ron says and then his eyes widen as something occurs to him.

He thinks back on how every step was so clearly articulated and negotiated, with every change in action and position discussed. Has he cockblocked the Saviour of the Wizarding World?

He turns to Harry. “Shit, mate, was that your first time?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “No, Ronald, it wasn’t our first time, but it’s the first time we’ve had alone time together in ages, for at least a week.”

“Oh,” Ron says meekly, “Well. Sorry about that. I just, err…” He waves his hand towards his leg and realizes that they can’t see what he’s doing. “I’m not supposed to put weight on this foot yet, and I need to piss like a racehorse. Could use a hand with that. Sorry to, err.”

He stops, unsure how to end that sentence. He doesn’t want to ask if they were able to… carry on, as it were, after his interruption, and based on the grumpy looks on their faces, he’s thinking probably not. He remembers the time Harry once accidently barged in on him with Hermione, and how he’d pulled a muscle after he’d moved so quickly to get behind the bed.

Harry and Draco help Ron climb out off of the sofa, and Harry balances him as he hops down the corridor to the bathroom. As they get to the door, Ron stops, and turns and grins.

“I think I can take it from here, mate. And since I’m just across the hall, why don’t I go into my room? Then you two can get back to business and I can take a nap before Hermione comes back to yell at me for not studying, and we never speak of this again. Sound good?”

Harry nods and pauses before he turns to go, rubbing a hand over his face self-consciously.

“You’re sure that you’re okay with this? Me and Draco?”

Ron sighs. “Harry, you deserve to be happy. Just... let yourself be happy, okay?”

Harry’s face breaks into a grin and he nods, and moves back down the hallway.

As Ron, finally, finally makes his way into the bathroom, he can’t help calling out behind him, “And learn to cast a fucking muffliato, my friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> _29\. Prompt: Sometimes Character A's consent is, uh, quite loud. Sometimes the sound of them consenting breaks through a privacy charm. Sometimes you can hear Character A consenting way out in the common room/some other public domain of your choice._
> 
>  
> 
> I hope the approach to consent in this is clear. In part, I was interested in the way that sex education was approached (if it was!) in the wizarding world, and the idea of having Professor McGonagall be the one offering it struck me as funny. I wanted to convey that even in an on-going relationship, checking in with your partner as you're getting intimate is important, and that it's an on-going process. While, I do believe that there's performative consent that isn't necessarily verbalized, that wasn't conveyed in this, simply because it's being overheard per the prompt.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I would love it if you left a kudos or a comment, they all make my day brighter and inspire me to write more!
> 
> Please do not repost this on any other site. And unfortunately, I'm not authorizing any translations at this time. Thank you for understanding!
> 
> I'll link to my tumblr and a rebloggable post after the authors are revealed, as well as a more thorough thanks to my betas!


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